‘Then should I come back here?’
‘As you choose.’
‘It’s just that I have to prepare.’
‘For what?’
‘I am to defend Lady Catherine.’
Now it was Henary’s turn to be astounded. ‘Whose idea was that?’
‘We agreed,’ Catherine said. ‘Who has been chosen for Pamarchon?’
‘I have. I could not refuse,’ he said.
It was a hastily assembled procession, but a large one. First came the Chamberlain, hurrying through the thickets with only a few followers. Next a gaggle of servants from the house, then ever more people from the nearby fields, abandoning their tools to see what was going on, and villagers from the settlements all around. Finally Gontal arrived, bringing with him his soldiers. Bit by bit, more than a hundred gathered.
No one, though, dared step into the circle except Gontal.
‘What exactly does all this mean?’ he asked, then stopped as he realised who everyone was. ‘Catherine. I am glad to see you restored to us, lesser in rank but whole in person.’
She eyed him coolly but did not reply.
‘The choice and acclamation of the new ruler of Willdon must take place at dusk,’ Henary said. ‘You will present yourself as next in line, I have no doubt. One of these will do so as well. One will take on the guilt that lies between them and so, purified of any taint, the other will offer themselves. Both have claimed the privilege of Esilio, as laid down in the Story, and their wishes cannot be ignored.’
Gontal’s eyes flickered between Henary, Pamarchon and Catherine, trying to work out whether there was any way of stopping what he considered to be a devious piece of trickery. He grunted and walked swiftly over to the Chamberlain. They had a hurried, quiet conversation; Gontal’s face darkened, and he stamped his foot in frustration. Then he walked back.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I imagine I must be the judge of the proceedings.’
‘Absolutely not,’ said Pamarchon and Catherine together.
‘Then who? Who has a better right than I?’ He smirked at the crowd gathering around. ‘Let any with greater authority than I present themselves to judge this matter.’ He called in a loud voice, ‘I command them to come forward!’
No one answered, all were looking at him anxiously. Except for Rosalind, who suddenly took a few steps and then started gesturing, speaking to nothing.
To say that what happened next caused terror and chaos would be to understate matters considerably. Rosalind ran over to an empty part of the clearing and could be seen speaking fluently and quickly, making gestures of command and respect. She was talking to nothing, but as she spoke she was illuminated by a faint, heavenly light. Only Jay had ever seen anything like it before; only Henary had ever heard of such a thing. He knew enough of the Perplexities to realise his worst nightmare was coming true. What had he done? He had never really believed in it, even after his conversation with Rosalind. His curiosity had set this in motion. Now it could not be stopped. Gontal had spoken in the circle, summoning one greater than himself, someone with more authority, knowing that no one on earth could have any such authority. His presumption had been answered.
He could not hear what Rosalind was saying; it was too fast and quiet, too far away. But he heard her last words. ‘Please come,’ she said, then stepped back.
Henary’s stomach curdled as a shape appeared and took on a solid form. Cries of lamentation went up; where there had been only a faint light, a figure, a man, was now standing, resplendent in red robes, tall and powerful-looking. He did nothing, said nothing, but smiled at Rosalind. They felt the power of his glance as it swept over them.
All fell onto their knees in reverence; a collective groan went up; some screamed and began sobbing in shock. Many covered their eyes, and those who did not looked in awe at the way that Rosalind, now revealed as a woman of great spiritual power, perhaps even the Herald of Doom itself, approached the spirit without fear. They had all seen it, they had witnessed with their own eyes something they would have dismissed as madness otherwise.
The spirit, meanwhile, appeared sombre, frightening in his authority and wrath. He held up his hands when he saw the crowd that was kneeling in fear of him, and made a gesture that seemed to be an order to step back from his presence. They obeyed without question, scarcely daring to look. Only Rosalind stood her ground, taking her eyes off him briefly as the light behind him flickered and then vanished.
Gontal was trembling, Pamarchon terrified, Catherine stood stock still. Henary looked as though he was about to be violently sick.
‘Master,’ Jay whispered, for fear that the spirit would hear. ‘What is happening?’
‘It is the end, Jay. The day spoken of, when the god judges us. He returns, and either sets us free or destroys us utterly.’
‘That’s a myth, an allegory. You said so yourself.’
‘I was wrong. This is my fault. I meddled with things I should have never ever touched. That manuscript foretold it all. You on the hilltop, the coming of the Herald, the return of Esilio. And next, the judgement.’
‘Rosalind? She is the Herald?’
‘The messenger who prepares the way for the return of the god.’
‘You knew this?’
‘No. I wanted to prove it was nonsense.’
‘It’s not possible,’ Pamarchon said.
‘Why not?’
‘Well... she agreed to marry me. If all went well.’
‘If what went well?’
‘The trial.’
‘Which trial? Your trial, or the trial of Anterwold? Did she say?’
‘This is not in the Story,’ Gontal objected. ‘These are just superstitions. There is not a single text which states anything like this. You know this, Henary. You have studied them as well as I have.’
‘This may be older than the Story,’ Henary replied. ‘Far, far older.’
56
‘Well? What do you think?’ Rosalind asked enthusiastically as she examined Lytten’s bemused expression.
For a long time, Lytten could think of nothing to say. The smells were real, the warmth was real. The sunlight through the tall trees was real. ‘This is... very peculiar,’ he said lamely.
‘You sort of get used to it after a while. Professor, could you do me a favour? I think it’s normal to go into the am-I-dreaming routine. I did. But you aren’t. So please just concentrate on what is important. You may be here for some time, as the light has gone out, so you might as well make yourself useful.’
Lytten looked. True enough, the light he had just walked through wasn’t there any more. ‘Angela said something about opening it up at dusk, I think. Where am I?’
‘You are in Anterwold. To be precise, at Willdon, in the stone circle of Esilio. Do you remember that?’
‘Of course. I thought it up as a sort of sacred spot. I never figured out its precise importance, though. I didn’t get round to that bit.’
‘It acts as a sanctuary. People are safe from the law here. They throw themselves on the judgement of Esilio, the all-wise. That’s you.’
‘Me?’
‘Who else is going to pop up out of nowhere in the middle of his own shrine? Apparently your coming has been foretold for generations.’
‘But I’m not.’
‘Are you sure? As you’re here, you might as well play the part. We have two people accused of murder, and they are appealing for judgement on which one is guilty. They will naturally expect you to take charge of things. So, tell me now. Who did kill Thenald?’
‘How should I know?’ Lytten said, still looking around him at the scene he had somehow entered.